


Unspoken

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Crying, Grief, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rare Pairings, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: They both need comfort.
Relationships: Halsin/Zevlor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Unspoken

You know what he wants as soon as you feel his hand on your shoulder. Living in the world requires so much translation, not just in language, but in empathy. It’s a feature of a life among so many species, so many Gods, so many callings. Usually it’s you trying to explain - you remember when you came to this place - how it feels to be in exile, how it feels to be feared, to be hated. Halsin’s handsome face had been impassive. You were practically begging: we are tired, our children are starving , we are terrified, and the only place we have to go might not want us anyway. How do you explain that to someone who lives in discomfort by choice?

But he let you in. And then he left you alone. Kagha nearly killed little Arabella. How could you explain to her that the children stay awake and listen to their parents talk about what goblins do to the helpless, when she has lived her life behind the grove’s walls? Nature doesn’t care, she said. But people can, you wanted to say. You all are but prey for the predators; if she felt for you she’d have to feel for every small animal eating by something bigger and larger. 

But this? This you understand. You’ve felt a hand on your shoulder, heavy with the question that doesn’t need to be asked. You let yourself be led away. It’s only a surprise that it took him so long.

Halsin’s room is not so much a room as it is a place that nature has deigned to allow him: stone, books, and a pile of furs. Not so different from any of the others. You wonder what the furs are for. Elves don’t require sleep and druids disdain any sort of comfort. 

He starts to remove your armor. It’s mostly for show, and mostly useless: leather cracked and rotting, chainmail rusted, the plates coming apart. It was what you could grab before you were thrown out of the city. Still, it’s good camouflage. The body underneath, your body, is hollow and starved and bent. Halsin makes no comment - he’s not even looked you in the eyes - but runs his callused hands across your ribs and your stomach. His hand strokes you from your neck to the base of your tail. 

“Now you,” you insist. What you find underneath his robes is as beautiful as you imagined. Scarred, yes, but firm and strong. His breath catches in his throat as you lightly scratch across his chest. You reach out, touch his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes. They are a still, untroubled blue. Uncanny in the uniformity of their colour. You trace the strong lines of his jaw, the swirling ink of his tattoo. And he lunges forward, grabbing your shoulders, and kisses you. 

There’s desperation there. And an endearing lack of skill. You’ve heard that Wood Elves disdain monogamy but the way he forces his tongue into your mouth suggests no great experience. Strange, given how beautiful he is. But perhaps that beauty puts him at a distance from others, as much as your own reported hideousness does. Or responsibility: you could never imagine laying down with one of your own people because there is a chance that they were fucking your authority, rather than the person. Halsin might feel the same.

His pelvis grinds against yours; you feel his erect cock rub against your hip. He seems to stop breathing when you wrap your fingers around it, mindful of your sharp nails. A careful stroke upwards. A groan is buried in your shoulder. You keep going, feeling this impossibly handsome man come apart in your arms. It doesn’t take long. Perhaps it’s been a while.

He drops to his knees before you and you open your mouth to object. His eyes are pleading so you say nothing. The soft, wet heat envelops you. It feels so good that it almost feels wrong. His other hand caresses your balls, then underneath your tail - it makes you hiss and thrust forward into his mouth. He chokes but keeps going - more eagerness than skill. And you come in his mouth. And he swallows your release.

This might be the last time anyone ever touches you like this. Tonight is but a brief reprieve. No goblins here but bandits and wild animals and hunger on the road ahead. More of your children will die and be buried in ditches. Young people who have no business will take up the sword -

Halsin kisses you again, softer and kinder. You realise you are crying. You let him pull you down onto the furs and he covers you with his heavy body. The weight is comforting and for a single moment you feel safe. 

“Let me carry it,” he says. “All of it.”

Tears run down his face, too. Shame? Fear? Perhaps he has a journey of his own ahead. You do not ask. It is none of your business. 

You can tell a tiefling’s mood by the strength of the hellfire burning in their eyes, in the twitch of a tail, or the weight of their head. Halsin might as well be a statue for all you can read him. But his body presses against yours, again, and despite it all, he’s getting hard. You wipe his tears away with a thumb and roll onto your stomach. A hand traces your spine, again, and his thumb presses under your tail. Your cock twitches. It’s too soon, for you, but you let him put his hard cock between your thighs and listen to his gasps as he ruts desperately against you.

This, at least, requires no translation.


End file.
